


drop our anchors in a storm

by patdkitten



Category: One Direction (Band)
Genre: M/M, harry is a monk, liam and niall are abducted with harry, louis is a merman, simon cowell captains a flying dutchman, zayn is a cursed sailor
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-07-08
Updated: 2015-07-08
Packaged: 2018-04-08 06:03:55
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 2
Words: 3,770
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4293531
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/patdkitten/pseuds/patdkitten
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Harry Styles is a novice monk on his way to take his vows when his ship is attacked by a Flying Dutchman captained by a cursed man. He's saved only by the fact that he's a monk, but finds out that the cursed captain will stop at nothing to get his curse lifted.</p><p>Alternately: the fic where Louis is a merman with very bad luck and Harry falls in love with him along the way.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Prologue

**Author's Note:**

> Title comes from Hurricane by Panic! at the Disco.
> 
> I cannot even begin to tell you, dear reader, the blood, sweat and tears (a lot of tears and tearing of hair, less of the blood) that has gone into this fic. And the research; oh lord, the research. You'd think that a fic involving magical creatures like merfolk would have very little research, but sharks (of which Louis is half of) became a bit of an obsession for a while there. And because I need it set in stone somewhere: Louis' fish half is half nursing shark. Also, religion got researched a little bit there as well (mostly in what a novice monk studies).
> 
> Shout out to Tanni for handholding and letting me sob about how this fic has eaten my brain. Also shout out to other friends that have gotten this fic discussed to them. (and who gave this fic a name)
> 
> If you're looking for a fic that stays consistently happy: this fic is not for you. If you want a fic that has a lot of angst, this fic is for you. Good lord, there is angst.
> 
> The perfect soundtrack for this fic is Nox Arcana's Phantoms of the High Seas. It's also where I got the idea for The Tempest, although Flying Dutchmen are a common occurrence in sea lore.

The old sailors were upset, sending their frustrations to the skies and seas.

Louis looked up toward the sky, watching as the sea birds cried and dived. Whatever they were upset about, he wasn't entirely sure; but he guessed that whatever it was was coming closer to where he perched on a sun soaked rock, watching his sisters frolic and sun themselves about the wind- and sea-battered rocks.

The oldest of his sisters, Charlotte, looked up as well, her blue eyes following the birds' movements.

“What do you suppose they're upset about?” She echoed his thoughts aloud, shielding her gaze with one slim hand as she scanned the horizon.

“I don't know.” Louis nudged the twins off the rocks they were sunning themselves on, suddenly worried that whatever the old sailors were upset about could harm his sisters, could harm him. “Take your sisters under, Lottie. I'm going to go find out what's upsetting them.”

Lottie looked vaguely skeptical, and more than a little annoyed at being treated like a little fish, pulling some of her hair back before she shooed the younger girls under. He waited until he saw the sunlight glint off the slickness of Lottie's tail before he slid into the water himself.

Quick, powerful kicks of his tail brought Louis closer to the rocky shore the old sailors called home. He didn't know much about the area despite the fact he and his sisters had been floating there for many tides now. There was a tiny but bustling fishing village just beyond the cliffs and battered rocks. Children from there would come to the rocky shore at low tide or after storms to collect the marine life that would wash up into the crevices and pools left in the aftermath.

His fingers curled into those same crevices in the rocky outcropping now, pulling himself up as carefully as he could, ears and eyes scanning the rocks and surrounding rocky landscape for anything that could account for what the old sailors were crying about. He didn't see anything, but....

He startled and quickly ducked down when a young boy happily passed by his hiding spot, watching from the safety of the water. A girl followed the young boy, at a far more leisurely pace, her very body language telling of an older sibling forced to watch over a younger.

Humans fascinated Louis, although he knew well enough to not let them see him, or any of his kind. The upper half of his body was similar enough to humans; at least, similar enough that he could pass for a human from a distance, although his hair was far longer than any human's he'd ever seen. As he followed the pair as carefully as he could, staying safely beneath the surface, he looked down at his hands and compared them to the two children above the surface. His hands were small and finely boned – close enough to pass for human hands – but his nails were too sharp and there was webbing between his fingers. The sharp nails were useful in tearing open shells to get at the softer tidbits beneath; the webbing useful to guide himself in swimming. His wrists were close enough to the children's too, equally fine boned, but he knew the similarity ended there: jutting out along the outer side of his forearms were long, thin spikes. These too helped in swimming, but they were also a weapon: they were as sharp as his nails and they were coated in poison secreted by his body.

Lost as he was in his musings and comparing himself to the children overhead, Louis didn't notice the pair had stopped at the edge of the outcropping until he'd glided past and found himself faced with open water. He shook himself, swimming back a bit to watch again, curling his fingers in tiny cracks he found half a tail length below the surface. It was just close enough to the surface that he could hear the pair – mostly the girl – talking. Although he and his sisters had been in the area for many tides, he had never been close enough to the fishing village to grasp a concept of their language, much less follow the conversation happening over his head. But he could very easily see the exasperation in the girl's face that her younger brother had wandered off and she was extremely displeased with him for it.

He related very well with that sentiment.

Anyway, the pair had to be the reason the old sailors were upset. The silly creatures hated being separated from the flotsam that was to be found on the rocky shore, and he related to that as well. Just that morning, he and his sisters had spent the better part of an hour sunning themselves on the rocks uncovered by the lower tide – and too far from human eyes that would see all the little differences that they weren't human – and digging about for tiny crustaceans and other tasty sea creatures before they'd moved out to deeper waters and taller rocks. He'd have to let Lottie know about the children; she'd follow him everywhere otherwise.

The thought of his sister made him realize he'd been gone from his sisters' sides too long. He needed to get back to them, needed to make sure the twins were properly learning how to get into the sunken cave they currently called home.

He'd barely ducked under when he heard a loud splash overhead. Between one heartbeat and the next, he'd pushed himself toward the sound, convinced it was one of his sisters letting their curiosity get the better of them. He was ready to scold whatever sister was getting too close to humans, when he realized it wasn't one of the girls that had surfaced in their curiosity; the little boy had gotten too close to the edge of the outcropping and had fallen in.

Louis angled himself around the boy, distantly aware that the boy's sister was screaming overhead. He wasn't sure it helped much; the boy clearly couldn't swim. He could tell that much as he swam small circles around the boy, staying just close enough that the boy's struggles brushed against the rough scales of his tail and kept the boy mostly aloft.

A couple more slow circles and he could feel that the boy's struggles were starting to lessen. There were small bubbles escaping from the boy's lips and Louis touched one of them, trying to remember what it meant. The boy's hand brushed against his tail one last time as the struggle ceased and Louis shook himself, quickly grabbing the boy by the arm and pushing him above the surface. He felt the boy's body get pulled from his grip and panicked sounds coming from overhead.

He wasn't sure if the boy still lived, but the fear of being seen by the sister made him sink lower into the depths. Besides, he needed to check up on his sisters. The thought propelled him off toward deeper waters, the drowning boy and the bubbles that meant nothing to him already leaving his mind.


	2. Chapter 1

"Avast ye pirates and blackhearted sea dogs.  
Many a man has been summoned by the lure of the deep  
and many a man has met his death beneath the dark waters of the endless abyss.  
For the sea is a cruel mistress and what she claims, she holds onto forever.  
Mariners tell tale of phantom ships whose ghostly captain and crew  
have been cursed to wander the mist-shrouded waves for all eternity.  
Other tales tell of sea monsters and sirens, sunken cities and ancient maps  
that lead to uncharted islands where treasure beyond most men's wildest dreams lay buried.  
But these are merely stories, and the truth may never be told.  
For such secrets are known only to the phantoms of the high seas.  
And dead men tell no tales."

\- "Dead Men Tell No Tales", Nox Arcana

 

\----

 

To say that Harry loved the sea was a gross understatement. The sea held such a fascination for him that no one, not a lover or anything silly or mundane like that, could possibly come close to that mistress for him. He knew that it bothered his sister, Gemma; had bothered her ever since they were little and he'd nearly drowned in the unforgiving sea.

He didn't remember the incident, but he had a scar from it. It was an odd scar; a smallish handprint – just slightly larger than a child's with webbing between the fingers much like a duck's foot – that wrapped around his bicep. His sister couldn't remember when during his drowning he'd gotten it, just that he hadn't had it before he'd fallen into the water and had it when he'd coughed up seawater after the event.

His mother had always kept it hidden from prying eyes, keeping Harry in long shirts even during the summers. He'd never thought much of it, had endured the taunts the other children had thrown his way over it. Although it was a scar, it was a special one and made him, therefore, unique.

Harry, though, Harry loved the sea fervently. Having turned 18 this past winter, it was high time for Harry to find his place in life, and his fascination with the sea had made his parents think that perhaps he'd be a fisherman like his stepfather, or a sailor like his birth father. He'd tried, and discarded, both. He hated to see the struggling fish in the heavy nets the fishermen used, and he didn't think he fancied the idea of being out at sea as long as sailors were, as much as he loved the sea.

What he had decided on was a life of solitude. There was a tiny monastery on the mainland, a few days' travel by fast ship, that rested on high cliffs overlooking the sea. He'd been there once before, when he'd been on a ship to see if the sailor life was best suited for him, and he'd fallen in love with the old building in its seemingly desolate location as well as the humble, quiet life the monks that called the monastery home led. It was so very different from life in the bustling little fishing village he'd grown up in that Harry felt he'd found home the moment he'd stepped through the heavy wooden doors.

He'd started his vows that first day in the monastery and had come home to say farewell to his family before he made his more permanent vows. He'd seen them again after he made his vows, but he knew that his mother and sister would never forgive him if he didn't say goodbye as himself and not as a monk.

To be fair, Harry wasn't sure if his mother was genuinely happy about his decision to become a monk. He knew that his mother wanted grandbabies to smother with love, and while there would probably be plenty from his older sister Gemma, a monk's vow of chastity would forbid Harry from ever having children of his own. But he knew that she was proud of him regardless of his choice in lifestyle. She'd said as much the previous night when he'd had dinner for the last time with his family. So had Gemma and his stepfather.

None of them could bring themselves to see him off this cool morning. Harry stood alone on one of the few docks the fishing village had, the small duffel carrying the few things he'd be allowed in the monastery at his feet, and watched the sailors scurrying about like ants on the ship that would take him away from the fishing village for good. Soon, he'd be climbing the lowered gangplank and sailing off to his new life.

The thought of leaving everything he'd known his whole life scared him. It was funny, in a way: despite nearly being killed by it, he wasn't scared of the sea and its secrets, but the thought of leaving everything behind for a brand new life nearly terrified him.

Harry wasn't sure how long he stood there on the dock watching the sailors scurry about before one of them approached him. He was a bit shorter than Harry was, with hair bleached blond from so much time spent in the sun and a cheery smile.

“You just about ready?” The sailor's smile got sunnier as he got closer, blue eyes flicking down toward the duffel at Harry's feet. “That all you're bringing?”

Harry smiled despite himself. Although he was going to put himself into solitude, he did love meeting new people and this sailor was certainly friendly enough to make the voyage that less boring. He swung the duffel over his shoulder. “All I'm allowed to.”

The sailor's eyes widened before he nodded. “Oh right, right. You're the one going off to be a monk, yeah?” At Harry's answering nod, the sailor led the way to the ship, chattering aimlessly the whole way down the dock and up the gangplank. Harry was sure the sailor would've shown him to his cabin had another sailor not caught the attention of the friendly blond.

“Oi, Niall!”

Niall smiled sheepishly, waving in the direction of the shout. “I gotta go. I'll see you around, yeah?”

“It's a ship.” Harry smiled, charmed. “And it's Harry.”

“Bye, Harry!” Niall waved as he hurried off to whatever task he needed to do in order for the ship to set sail.

 

The ship shuddering hard woke Harry up with a start. They'd been at sea for a couple days, more time than he would have thought possible for what should've been a short trip. If he were a sailor, his best guess would be that land would get sighted today.

He rolled out of the tiny bunk that was his on the voyage and stumbled his way up to the deck, only to find himself in what looked and sounded like a major war. Cannon fire boomed around him, dark smoke obscuring half the deck from view. Here and there, sailors emerged from the smoke like phantoms, locked in deadly battle with sailors Harry had never seen before. The new sailors looked ragged and battered, much like the sea-torn wreckage of a ship, but as Harry watched on with wide eyes, the unknown sailors got the upper hand.

None of the sailors on either side seemed to come close to where Harry stood, as if he were surrounded by an unseen barrier. He was grateful of that fact as he saw good sailors falling bloody to the deck on either side of him. Not moments after he arrived on deck, Harry was aware that there were more of the ragged sailors standing than the ones that had started the voyage with him.

Suddenly, as if there was some unheard signal, the ragged sailors stopped fighting. They didn't retreat from whence they came, although some went around collecting the sailors left alive and putting them all in one central location: near the main mast. They weren't tied up, but they were disarmed quickly and forced to sit on the wooden deck.

Like it had been waiting for a signal of its own, a cool sea wind began to blow through the ship, sweeping the dark smoke away. As it cleared, Harry could see that one of the survivors was Niall, the sailor that had walked him onto the ship in the first place. Niall caught his gaze, holding it briefly before their attention was dragged away by the sound of footsteps coming onto deck from the captain's quarters.

The newcomer had the same ragged look the unknown sailors had, but while they held themselves almost slouching, he held himself tall and arrogantly. As he crossed the deck to where the ragged sailors stood guard over the survivors, he passed by where Harry stood. Harry caught a whiff of salt and sea air off the man as he went, watching as the ragged sailors sent up a cheer at the sight of the stranger.

The man stopped in front of the survivors, surveying them for a few minutes silently, one hand raised to quiet his men. Harry couldn't see the man's face, but he was grateful for that, if the faces of the survivors were anything to go by. There was definite fear there, a bone-chilling fear that Harry didn't think he'd ever seen before and didn't think he wanted to see ever again.

Harry considered retreating back to his tiny bunk and hiding, but he didn't think he'd make it that far. Although he still seemed to be going unnoticed, he couldn't be sure that it would last much longer, and he felt that someone had to be a witness to whatever was about to happen.

He got his answer soon enough. The man pointed to a couple sailors that looked about Harry's own age, and it looked like Niall was one of them. The sailors that were pointed to were grabbed by a few of the guards and dragged off to the ship that Harry could see moored to theirs. He knew that his time to act was upon him, but before he could decide what action to even take, the captain of the other ship turned seemed to finally see him.

The man pointed at him and said something to a younger man that stepped out of the crowd of ragged sailors. Whatever it was was lost in the wind still blowing on the deck, but it made the younger man cross the deck with purpose and take Harry by the arm.

“Come along quietly if you know what's good for you.” The younger man said with a quiet but forceful tone that brooked no argument.

Harry couldn't help the panic that rose within at the tone, but he didn't quite pull away. “Am I a prisoner then?”

The young man said nothing, just tightened his grip around Harry's bicep with his meaning clear.

“If I'm a prisoner....” Harry held up his free hand, keeping his voice as soothing as he could. “Could I at least get my things? I'll come quietly if you let me.”

His captor looked very much like he was tempted to deny the request, brown eyes narrowing warningly before he gave a curt nod. “Very well. But I'm coming with you.”

 

A couple hours later found Harry in a small cabin, sparsely furnished with a set of bunk beds shoved against one wall and a chair and small table shoved against the wall the door was on, with the other captives from his ship. He'd been right about Niall having been one of the sailors that had been dragged onto the other ship. The other was the boatswain from Harry's ship, a young man named Liam. He didn't know what had happened to the other survivors; judging by the silence that Liam had been in from the moment the three of them had found themselves in the small cabin, Harry didn't think he wanted to know.

In fact, Harry had been the last to enter the small cabin. Liam had been pacing the room when Harry's escort, for lack of a better term, had delivered him to the cabin. As if it were a signal he'd been waiting for, Liam had immediately retreated to the top bunk, putting his back to the cabin. Niall had tried to reach him, tan fingers just barely brushing the rough homespun shirt Liam wore, but it had done no good. Niall had then retreated to the lower bunk, looking quietly miserable. Harry, for his part and for lack of nothing else to do, had sat down on the lone chair and had prayed for the dead.

The silence was beginning to feel like it would stretch on forever when Niall suddenly clapped his hands. Harry jumped at the sudden sound, staring wide eyed at the young man.

“Sorry.” Niall gave him a sheepish smile, shoving his hands between his knees and leaning forward. “It just got too quiet for my tastes.”

“That's fine.” Harry returned the smile, happy to be doing something besides pray for the dead. He was beginning to run out of prayers and he didn't even know most of the men's names. “It was far too quiet.”

Niall leaned further forward, balancing just on the edge of the lower bunk. “Why do you think this ship attacked us? We're just a harmless cargo ship.” He paused, and Harry could see his face go pale behind the tan on his face. “We _were_ just a harmless cargo ship.”

“I don't know.” Harry moved his chair closer to the bunks, taking Niall's hand in both of his and squeezing reassuringly. He knew very well that Niall was just as scared about the situation as Harry was, and both lads were wondering if they'd ever see anything else but the small cabin or if they'd be dying themselves shortly. “You were just a harmless cargo ship, and I'm just a harmless novice monk.”

Niall opened his mouth to respond, but there was a loud derisive snort from the upper bunk. Liam rolled over, dangling an arm over the edge as he craned his head to fix both of them with a look.

“Don't you two _get_ it? It doesn't _matter_ what the ship was doing, or where it was going.” He smacked his hand against the side of the bunk, and Niall flinched against the sharp crack. “We're not getting off this ship. Ever.”

“Don't say that, Liam.” Niall pulled his hand from Harry's, getting up and looking pleadingly up at his crew mate.

Liam pushed himself up on an elbow, all the better to survey them both. “Did you see the name of the ship when it attacked us? That was the biggest hint to our fate.”

“I was in my bunk.” Harry said quietly, trying to keep his voice calm because it looked like Niall needed it. But his calmness was going unnoticed by Liam, who continued to look at both of them like he thought they were children.

“We're on the Tempest.” Liam looked smug as Niall turned pale beneath his tan again. “Oh, you _have_ heard of it, Niall.”

“That's just...” Niall began, wringing his hands. “It's just a story, Liam.”

Harry cleared his throat. “I've certainly never heard of The Tempest.”

Liam opened his mouth, probably to launch into the story of The Tempest, but whatever it was was drowned out by a yell from above decks followed by the sound of running feet.

“Land ho!”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> all questions, comments and concerns can either be left below or at my tumblr [](http://doncasterkitten.tumblr.com)

**Author's Note:**

> Any questions, comments and concerns can either be left here or you can find me on Tumblr [here](http://doncasterkitten.tumblr.com).


End file.
